


Clint Barton Insists Steve Rogers is a Flirt (or, Mistaking Politeness for Flirtation 101)

by immoralq



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:21:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immoralq/pseuds/immoralq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint insists that Steve is flirting with Tony.  And Coulson.  And probably Thor as well.<br/>Steve is confused.  How is being polite considered flirting?<br/>Tony agrees with Clint, but insists it doesn't mean anything because Steve flirts with everyone.<br/>Coulson has a headache.</p><p>Yep, that's basically what this story amounts to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Trying To Be Polite

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a long-ish story. I write pretty good smaller stories ie. around 5000 words or so, but I'm trying to push myself to write longer fics. 
> 
> This has 2 parts and the second one is not finished. I'm hoping that by posting the first part I'll get some self-motivation to figure out how to end this.

Steve doesn’t mean to do it. He really doesn’t. He’s never been particularly good at flirting – that was more Bucky’s thing than his. It seems, though, that the definition of flirting has changed in the decades he was, as Tony puts it, ‘doing time as a Capsicle.’

Steve had really hated Tony when they first met, especially when he made those kind of comments, but now he realises that Tony makes those kind of comments to everybody and that was just…well, _Tony_.

Either way, apparently now flirting is less subtle and more….in your face. As in, Steve’s had a woman come up to him after a fight and literally drag his face down into her cleavage. Yeah, awkward. He’d very firmly, but gently, lifted his head up and politely expressed his disinterest. Expecting tears, he’d been relieved (and kind of amazed) when she’d just tossed her hair, grinned at him, and said, “No problems, Cap. If it ain’t mutual, it ain’t fun.” She’d then slipped him her card and told him to call her if he ever changed his mind.

The whole incident was quite surreal and, honestly, if Tony hadn’t recorded it all and had Jarvis play it back on the big screen in the rec room at the tower, he would’ve thought it was just some kind of hallucination from the knock he’d gotten on the head during the fight.

Tony had laughed his head off, though, and teased Steve mercilessly about it for weeks. Steve knew it was all in good fun, but there was good fun and there was taking things a bit far. Like when Steve had been down in Tony’s workshop sketching the bots and he’d fallen asleep on the ratty old couch in the corner and woken up to find his head pillowed on a pair of fake breasts.

So, yeah, flirting was easier now, apparently. And, for some strange reason, no matter what he said or did, he was flirting. All it took was 70 plus years in a cryogenic state and he suddenly had, what was the word? _Game_. He suddenly had game. Whatever the heck that meant.

Last week there’d been a bank robbery, which was not usually the sort of thing the Avengers dealt with, but the robbers had been brandishing Chitauri weapons and so they’d been called in because, even after the Battle of New York (and wasn’t that a doozy? The Battle of New York. If he ever got frozen for decades again he’d have to see if it had made the history books and was taught in schools) the NYPD just couldn’t cope with alien weaponry.

After the Avengers had gotten involved, one of the robbers had decided it would be a brilliant idea to grab a hostage and try and bargain his way out. Of course, it didn’t work, and Steve had taken out both the robber and the weapon with one throw of his shield. Which made Steve wonder why the heck none of the would-be criminals in New York hadn’t learnt to duck when they saw him coming, or at least hide behind something solid. He was pretty sure stupidity hadn’t been a job requirement for criminals in his day, so why did it seem to be now?

No that he was complaining, really. Dealing with stupid criminals after dealing with the likes of Loki, Von Doom, Red Skull and Baron Zemo was almost like a holiday.

The point being, of course, after he’d taken out the bad guy, the hostage had fainted and Steve had to catch her before she hit the ground.

Which was when he discovered that she was not actually a _she_ , as such.

He’d read all the material that was required of him when he’d woken up, trying to adjust to this new world, and he knew about transvestitism and drag queens and about how some people preferred to be gender neutral and some were born male and wanted to be female and some were born female and wanted to be male and there was just _so_ _much information_.

He’d done his best, trying to assimilate it all, as confusing as it could be. Apparently, there was no such as just heterosexual and homosexual now, either. There was asexual and pansexual and demisexual and combinations of all of the above.

He’d done his best, but in the end he’d decided that surely, even after 70 years, manners were a constant and he’d address people as he saw them and be polite. So, when the person wearing the skirt, blouse and beads with the lovely long red hair had woken up, he’d asked, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

She’d blinked at him, clearly a little dazed, then smiled and replied, “I just got saved by Captain America.”

“Yes, ma’am. Are you alright? Do you need me to call the paramedics over?”

The fight had finished whilst he’d been rescuing her and there were already three ambulances on scene, paramedics checking everyone out and handing out blankets. There were a few people with minor injuries; cuts and scrapes and bruises and the like, but most seemed to be suffering from shock.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m just a little shaken up. I’ll be fine.”

She struggled to stand, so Steve helped her up and offered his arm for her to steady herself on. She stood a for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, and Steve was suddenly reminded of Peggy and how strong she was and, just for moment, all the pain of losing her came back and he had to shut his eyes to stop the tears.

A hand gently touched his cowl-covered face and a soft voice asked, “Are you alright?”

Taking a deep breath himself, he nodded, opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry, you just reminded me of someone, someone I-” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Someone you lost?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.” She was sincere and Steve realised that the look on her face was almost a mirror for the one he was sure was on his.

“You too?”

She nodded and, despite not being very good at this sort of thing, he gave her a gentle hug, trying to connect and reassure and offer comfort and it must have worked, because she hugged back and they stayed that way for a minute before Steve pulled away and asked again, “Are you sure you don’t want the paramedics to look you over? You look a little shocky.”

“No, that’s okay.” Her expression shifted and she grinned wickedly, adding, “I just need a good stiff one in me, and I’ll be fine.”

He blushed and she grinned harder, “A drink, that is,” she clarified.

“Oh.”

She hugged him again, briefly, and said, “Thanks for saving me, Captain America.”

He saluted and replied, “You’re welcome, ma’am. Enjoy your drink.”

She laughed and, just then, a police officer came over and escorted her out, talking about witness statements and getting her details and would she mind?

Tony walked over, his faceplate open, and gave Steve a look. Not, it was more like A Look. It deserved the capital letters.

“What is it, Tony?”

“You had a moment. With the pretty lady. Why didn’t you ask her out?”

Steve groaned, hefted his shield and tried to leave. Tony wasn’t having any of it, however, and followed, still talking.

“Seriously, Steve, you flirt like you breathe. She would’ve said yes. Why didn’t you ask her out? She was hot.”

Flirted like he breathed? What was Tony on about it?

“I was _not_ flirting, Tony. That’s called polite conversation. Are you familiar with the concept at all? Didn’t you used to booze and schmooze your way through society?”

Tony’s laughter caught him by surprise and so, if he were being honest, did his own reaction to it. He’d heard Tony laugh sarcastically, a little ‘ha ha, very funny’ sort of laugh; heard him laugh ridiculously, making all kinds of silly noises as he mocked something or someone, but only very rarely had he heard Tony laugh genuinely. Laugh like he was laughing now, like he was laughing with Steve, not at Steve, laugh like he was _happy_.

It made Steve’s stomach do flip-flops and somersaults and, oh heck, his heart go all fluttery, just like those dime store novels his Ma had used to read, but before he could say anything else, Coulson’s voice was in his ear and the team was picked up for debriefing.

As they sat around the conference table, he wondered what Tony would say if Steve asked him out? Would he laugh one of those sarcastic laughs or would he just gently mock Steve for a week or so? Or would he actually say yes? And what if he did? Tony was a billionaire – where could Steve possibly take Tony on a date that would compare to all the places he’d no doubt have already been?

And if he did manage to find somewhere? It could all go horribly, horribly wrong. Steve could use the wrong fork or pick the wrong wine or order the wrong dish or spill something on himself or, oh hell, spill something on _Tony_.   The serum had fixed a lot of things, but Steve still had trouble with people he really liked.

He felt the tip of a pen poking him in the side and looked down. It was a nice fountain pen, black embossed with gold, the sort of pen-. He looked up slowly.

“Pay attention, Captain.” Coulson whispered, leaning in and shifting his clipboard closer, as if they were just comparing notes.

Steve smiled and Coulson blushed and, dammit, Steve kept forgetting about Coulson’s hero worship. He still hadn’t signed those cards, either. The alien invasion, and Coulson’s subsequent death, had kind of put a stop to that.

He made a concerted effort to pay attention during the rest of the briefing and, as soon as they were able to escape, he caught Coulson by the shoulder. “Phil?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

Steve winced and said, “Phil, please call me Steve.”

“Yes, Steve?”

It wouldn’t last. Phil would go back to calling him Captain Rogers as soon as they had their next conversation, but he’d take what he could get. He was just an ordinary man, nothing special, and certainly not someone of deserving of being _anyone’s_ hero, let alone of a man who’d literally died protecting the earth from a crazed Norse god.

“I’m just going to my quarters to clean up before I head back to the Tower. If you want to meet me there in about 15 minutes or so, I’ll sign your cards for you.”

Phil didn’t say anything, just stared at him, as implacable and inscrutable as ever. Steve fidgeted, not sure if he was doing the right thing, and quickly added, “If you still want me to, that is.”

Phil reached out a hand and clasped Steve’s shoulder; then he smiled and said, “Thanks, Steve. See you shortly.”

Steve let out a sigh of relief as Phil walked away. He had a lot of respect for the Agent and it was good he’d apparently done the right thing.

Tony, obviously having witnessed the exchange, whistled from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

“First the hot redhead and now Agent? You move fast, Cap.”

Steve sighed a sigh that sent ‘I’m put upon by this man’ vibes echoing down the corridor. Because Tony, even though he didn’t mean any harm, never stopped and now Steve was going to be second-guessing himself every time he talked to Phil about something that wasn’t work related.

 _Phil_ didn’t think he was flirting, did he? No, of course not. He was happily involved with someone else, according to Natasha, and if anyone would know, it would be her. Natasha knew everything that went on at Shield.

“Tony, I am not moving anywhere or with anyone.”

And that was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Tony dissolved into laughter again. And again it did those funny things to his heart and head and tummy. He’d thought all that guff had been made up by writers to sell books, but apparently not.

When his laughter had turned into short gasps for breath, Tony managed to ask, “Why don’t you want to clean up at the Tower? Don’t you trust us?”

“I wouldn’t go into battle with you if I didn’t, Tony.”

“Oh.”

Tony suddenly looked…..abashed. It didn’t last long, but it was charming to see, nonetheless. Steve liked Tony all loud and brash and sarcastic and so, so smart. He liked quiet Tony too, though. Those rare times when the billionaire was absorbed in his work, quiet and thoughtful and usually covered in grease or oil from his tinkering. Or working on one of his bots, when he was so careful and gentle and spoke so soothingly, especially to Dummy.

Steve didn’t get to see enough of _that_ Tony, so the memories were to be cherished and hoarded like old photographs when he did.

“You didn’t answer my question though, Cap. Why won’t you shower at the tower?”

Shower at the tower? Geez, that was bad. That was Hawkeye-bad.

Tony seemed to realise it too, because his lips moved and Steve knew he was replaying what he’d just said in the privacy of his own head.

“Okay, nix that.   My brain-to-mouth filter needs work, obviously.”

“Sure, Tony,” Steve was trying to hard not to laugh and Tony knew it, so his glare was not helping matters. Steve had been on the end of a few of Peggy’s glares – Tony’s had nothing on hers. Only Miss Potts came close, and then only just.

“This doesn’t mean you get out of answering my question, O Capitan.”

“It got lost somewhere between moving and brain-to-mouth filter,” Steve said drily. He put on a confused look and asked, “What was the question again?”

Tony threw up his hands in mock despair and said, “Fine! Don’t tell me then! But don’t blame for Shield’s shit water pressure when you could’ve been using my magnificent and totally customised-for-each-occupant showers at the tow-“ He grimaced and continued, “At _home_.”

“I promise I won’t blame you for _any_ of my decisions, including where I shower, okay Tony?”

Still muttering under his breath, Tony turned away and headed for the storage area, presumably to retrieve his suit and head back to his tower. To shower.

Steve laughed to himself as he walked to his own quarters, looking forward to cleaning up. And yes, Tony was right, the water pressure was kind of crap, but Steve was used to field showers ie. a bit of water on a cloth and a quick rubdown in front of the fire (and sometimes not even that), so even though he had become slightly spoilt by Tony’s luxuries, just a shower with hot running water was always a good thing.

He scrubbed himself down, enjoying the feel of the warmth on his muscles and let his mind drift. Unfortunately, it drifted in all the wrong directions. Okay, no so much _wrong_ , per say, more like…..inappropriate. Inappropriate, as in Phil was going to be knocking on his door shortly and he didn’t need to be-

Oh, but that felt damn good and it’d been a while. Steve had been trying not to jerk off to fantasies of Tony but, since that was all his imagination was coming up with these days, it had meant a lot of unfinished business on his part. He’d start out imagining Peggy and then the picture in his head would slowly transmute into Tony, smirking all over his face and calling him ‘Capsicle’ and reaching up to drag him down into a slow kiss, all wet heat and tongues sliding over each other.

And then he’d feel uncomfortable thinking about his best friend that way and everything would just go dull, the spark taken away, and he’d end up limp and unfulfilled.

Not today, it seemed. Today it seemed his head and heart were finally, _finally_ , working together and he was hard and aching and ready.

No time to take it slow, though, not with Phil arriving any minute. No long strokes, savouring the feeling of the rough texture of his hands and pretending they were Tony’s (because Tony would have rough hands from all his work; he’d have calluses and cracked skin and it would feel amazing!) This was short, hard tugs over the head, yanking on himself, his breathing fast and sharp as he pulled himself towards climax. It was almost too rough, but only almost and he panted as he worked himself to completion, shouting Tony’s name as he came, covering the shower wall with dripping ropes of semen.

As he slowly came down from the orgasm, breathing heavily, he became aware of the knocking. Crap! Phil was here already and he was still in the shower! Quickly turning off the water, he yelled, “I’ll be there in a minute!”

He grabbed a towel and gave his hair a quick rub, then knotted it around his waist and headed for the door. Phil was, as usual, unflappable, taking in Steve’s state of undress with a one look and, to Steve’s relief, not commenting as he came in, carrying a case.

“Hi, Phil! Sorry about this,” Steve waved a hand in his own general direction, “I got sort of distracted and lost track of time. Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll be right with you.”

He gave himself a quick rubdown, grabbed underwear, jeans and a shirt out of various draws, slung the towel into the bathroom and dressed himself rapidly.

Phil didn’t bat an eye through the whole thing and Steve was, strangely, grateful. He’d been a soldier and there was no room for modesty in the field. You kept yourself as clean as you could and didn’t care who was watching, because there was no time for that.

Steve didn’t know if Phil had ever been in the service, but he acted like all the other guys Steve had served with – as if he didn’t care at all about Steve basically doing a reverse strip tease in front of him (minus the gyrating).

“Please sit down,” Steve gestured to the bed. His quarters weren’t exactly huge, so there was only the bed, a desk and one chair and if he was going to be signing cards, he needed to be at the desk.

“Right,” he continued as Phil sat down, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Shall we?”

Phil put his case flat onto the bed, flicked open the latches and withdrew a series of plastic sleeves. Steve could see they held the cards and he waited whilst Phil gently removed each of them in turn and placed them in a small pile on the desk, along with a pen.

Steve picked it up and then asked, “Did you want me to personalise them? Or just sign my name? And did you want _my_ signature, or Captain America’s?”

Phil took the questions in stride, holding his hand up in a wait-a-moment-I’m-thinking gesture. He was clearly taking this very seriously.

“Would you sign ‘Captain Steve Rogers’, please?” His voice was slightly shy, like he though perhaps he was asking too much, but he added anyway, “No need to personalise them, but I appreciate the offer.”

“You know it’s not a problem, Phil. Back or front?”

“On the front, please.”

Steve signed each card carefully, trying not to mess up the look of the picture too much as he did so, handing them back to Phil as he went through the pile so they could be slipped carefully back into their plastic sheets.

The pile disappeared quickly and, finally, Steve was on the last one. It had been interesting seeing them all. He’d been in Europe taking down Hydra whilst all the campaigning and promotion was going on, so until Natasha had mentioned it, he’d never even known he _had_ trading cards.

How many kids had bought them? How many had seen him as a hero? How many went into the military because of him? And how many didn’t come home? Or came home incomplete? Missing limbs, missing hearts, missing souls? He’d always considered himself just a soldier, but now he was a superhero and, maybe, that could come in handy for something.

A quiet noise interrupted his reverie and he mentally shook himself. “Sorry, Phil. Lost in memories, I guess.”

He handed the last card back and watched Phil tuck it safely away, gently and carefully, like they were the most precious thing he owned and, quite possibly, they were.

Phil stood up and cleared his throat but Steve had something else for him and held up his hand to forestall whatever the agent was going to say.

“I, uh, I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but….” Steve pulled open his desk drawer and lifted out an A4 portfolio. “I drew these for you.”

He quickly handed Phil the portfolio and watched, breath held in anticipation of the agent’s reaction, as the man opened it up and started looking through the drawings. They were only pencil sketches, because Steve had thought Phil would appreciate that, but he’d signed them all.

There was Phil himself, in profile, unflappable as always; surety and calm surrounding him. There was Natasha, guns blazing as she looked straight ahead as if she was ready to fire straight out of the picture. There was Clint, down on one knee in an archer’s pose, bow raised and string pulled back to his cheek. There was Fury, on the bridge, surrounded by screens, his coat swirling dramatically. There was Maria Hill, looking a little worse for wear, a cut over one eye and hair loose from its bun, but still ready to fight. There was Tony Stark in the full Iron Man suit, arms up and stretched in front of him, ready to fire. There was Thor, hair blowing in the wind, hammer raised and lightning all around him. And lastly there was the Hulk. And Doctor Banner. The two side by side but turning away from each other, as if being pulled in half.

“Steve, I…”

“I know you have a new team now, and you’re only here temporarily, but I thought you might like to have some way to keep your old one with you. It’s the least I can do, Phil.”

“Thank you, Steve.”

Phil moved to the door, which opened. Steve got up and followed him, pausing in open doorway. He held out his hand and said, “You’re welcome, Phil.”

The agent clasped his hand and gave it a firm shake, perhaps gripping slightly longer than was necessary, but Steve wasn’t about to complain. Then he heard a familiar voice.

“Steve, stop flirting with Agent, you can’t have him. He’s got a cellist in Portland.”

“Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers,” Phil nodded respectfully at each of them and disappeared down the corridor, apparently none-too-anxious to deal with Tony Stark just at that moment.

“To-ny!” Steve groaned, exasperated. “I was just getting him to loosen up a little and you had to open your big mouth?”

“Loosen up? My, my, Captain. What _have_ the Shield shrinks got you reading these days?”

And another little battle in their little war had commenced. Steve fired his opening shot with wide-eyed ignorance.

“I don’t understand that reference.”

Tony raised his eyebrow and fired back.

“Well, Capsicle, it’s like this: when a man loves another man very much and wants to express that love he gets a bottle of lubricant and uses his fingers to-“

“Well, you certainly know a lot about it, don’t you, Tony?”

“I know a lot about everything, Cap. I’m a genius, remember?”

“So, if I asked you for a practical demonstration, you’d be capable?”

The look on Tony’s face was priceless. His mouth was open, his eyes were wide and he was, for the first time since Steve had met him, speechless.

“See you back at the Tower, Tony,” Steve said cheerfully, stepping back into his room and letting the door close behind him. He could feel himself grinning like crazy.


	2. Trying to Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint just won't shut up.  
> Coulson is one step closer to going mad.  
> Darcy makes an appearance (and bloody good coffee.)  
> And Steve finally gets the right words out but will Tony take them seriously?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here we are, at the end. I must apologise for how long this has taken me to finish. I really thought I had the ending nailed down, but it ran away from me and insisted that it wasn't long enough. 
> 
> I said I was trying to push myself to write a long-ish fic but I didn't expect quite this long. Still, I'm quite happy with what I've managed and I hope you are too.

The next day he was enjoying some downtime in the kitchen, cooking pancakes (which he thought he might get Tony to share – the genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist missed too many meals, in Steve’s opinion) while he tried to brew a pot of coffee in a coffee machine that had more settings than his Starktablet, when an interesting conversation filtered in through the open door from the rec room.

“Cap’s flirting with Stark. It’s disturbing.”

“Captain Rogers is _not_ flirting with Stark, Barton. Captain Rogers doesn’t flirt.”

“Don’t pretend you’re ignorant, Coulson. Steve’s a flirt. Stark told me he was even flirting with _you_ the other day.”

“The Captain was _not_ flirting with me, Barton. Stark completely misread the entire situation.”

“He answered the door in a towel! With water dripping down his serum-enhanced abs! You told me that yourself – are you sure _you_ aren’t misreading the situation? Because _that_ is top level flirting.”

“Barton,” the word was drawled with exaggerated patience, because no doubt even Phil’s famous stock of it was running low by now, “Captain Rogers had just got out of the shower. Of course he was wet. I was too impatient – I arrived early and he wasn’t prepared.”

“And what about him just shucking those towels and getting dressed in front of you?”

“Barton, you’re a field operative. You should know that there’s no room for modesty when all you’ve got is a fire and a wet cloth. You should also know those habits don’t leave us.”

Barton’s voice dropped to a low murmur and Steve strained to hear, but all he could catch was Phil’s reply.

“Captain Rogers is not flirting with, Stark, Barton. Don’t make me say it again.”

“You’re so hot when you’re all dominating.” There was a significant pause. “ _Sir_.”

And Steve went back to the coffee machine and tried not to listen anymore. Some conversations were private and should stay that way.

After he’d finally got the blasted machine going, the kitchen began to fill up with the smell of premium beans being roasted, ground and percolated to perfection and, just as Steve hoped, it lured Tony in like a magnet.

He appeared in the doorway, sniffing the air with a rapturous expression on his face. Steve beckoned and he shuffled to the table and sat down while Steve poured him a mug. He held it to his nose, breathing in the aroma, as a plate of pancakes was placed in front of him. There was maple syrup within reach and a fork next to the plate and Steve could see his brain ticking over as he weighed his options: coffee, or pancakes, first?

Steve knew which would win, and was proven right, when Tony practically inhaled the entire cup, then held it out for a refill whilst his other hand was busy squeezing syrup all over the pancakes and then picking up the fork.

By the time Steve had poured him more coffee, Tony was nearly halfway through the stack and didn’t look like he was in any danger of slowing down. Knowing he’d need more food for himself, anyway, he got the eggs and bacon out of the fridge and put a pan on the hob to heat whilst he devoured his own delicious pancakes.

After a second cup of caffeine, Tony was more coherent and able to form proper sentences. He said, “Hey, Steve.”

“Hey, Tony.”

Finishing his pancakes, Steve started on the bacon and eggs and the unmistakeable smell of frying bacon attracted a few more people into the kitchen. Without even being asked, he put another pan on the stove and got more food from the fridge.

“Good morrow, fellow warriors! Tis a fine and pleasant day, is it not?”

Tony winced and said, “Thor, you are totally my favourite, but could you, y’know, turn down the volume a bit? Please?”

“I am sorry, friend Tony.” Thor lowered his voice, obviously trying to whisper. It was something he just couldn’t do, but his attempt was a least a little quieter than his booming cheer. It wasn’t good to boom at Tony before he’d had his third cup of coffee.

“So, Tony, I hear Cap’s been flirting with you,” was Clint’s first comment after sitting at the table.

If he was expecting some kind of reaction from the partly-awake engineer, he was going to be disappointed, because all Tony did was yawn and reply, “Cap flirts with everyone, Barton. No need to be jealous. Give him time – he’ll get around to you.”

Steve just shook his head in resignation. There was no point saying anything, it’d only add fuel to the fire. It was just….confusing. Since when had having manners become flirting? When had trying to be nice to people become flirting? The future was a great place, but it was downright confusing sometimes.

“I don’t want Cap to flirt with me,” Clint said just as Steve put a plate of food in front of him. “Thanks, Cap.”

“You’re welcome, Clint,” Steve smiled warmly.

“I do like me some bacon.”

“It’s good to get a bit of meat in you,” Steve agreed.

Clint stared at Steve, then looked over to Tony.

“Okay, you’re right, Tony, it was only a matter of time.”

“Told ya.”

“He doesn’t flirt with me,” Natasha interjected, looking mildly offended. (Whether the ‘offended’ part was genuine, or she was just faking it, Steve wasn’t able to tell.)

“That’s because Steve’s just as attached to his balls as any man, Nat.” Clint explained. “He doesn’t want you to try and cut them off.”

She just raised an eyebrow at him. “Try?”

“Do or do not – there is no try.”

Steve could tell from the way he said it that Tony was quoting something, probably a film, but he was catching up on popular culture decade by decade and was currently, media wise, in the 1960’s. Obviously, he hadn’t got to whichever one that was from yet.

“Will you share your sustenance with me, Captain?”

Thor was giving Steve the _look_ , half-pleading, half-sad, which you’d think someone of his build and stature wouldn’t be able to pull off, but on Thor? It kind of made him look like a big, fluffy, friendly St. Bernard. Tie a barrel around his neck and finish the look, Tony had said once. Tony had also told him not to fall for it, but Steve caved every time.

He put full plates down in front of Natasha and Thor and smiled at Thor’s, “Many thanks!” Natasha just gave him a polite nod and he nodded back.

“Where’s Bruce?” Clint looked around the table, as if just suddenly noticing the distinct lack of a mild-mannered doctor sipping tea. Or a giant green rage monster smashing the table to bits. Not that anyone would fail to notice said giant green rage monster.

“He’s meditating,” said Natasha. “We told him Steve was cooking, but he just said he needed his quiet time. I told him I’d see it stayed quiet.” The last sentence was spoken in a tone that threatened injuries worse than removal of testicles. There were hints of fractured bones, implications of major blood loss and undercurrents of actual _death_.

It was amazing, truly amazing, what nuances Natasha could get into her voice. Steve really admired her for it. It was art, it really was. Tony had told him once that Natasha had scared him into doing what she wanted with a single word and a raised eyebrow. Steve believed it.

“So Steve can’t flirt with him? He’s not going to have the whole set if he doesn’t at least _try_ to flirt with Bruce.”

“He won’t get the whole set, anyway, Clint,” said Tony, who was busy with his second breakfast. “No Natasha, remember?”

“True.”

“Barton, I told you that Captain America doesn’t flirt. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Maybe, sir,” Clint turned around in his seat and smirked. “Also, maybe Captain America doesn’t flirt, but Steve Rogers is pretty good at it.”

“Good point,” Tony stabbed his fork in the air for emphasis. He was a half a cup of coffee off being completely functional, so he nearly took Thor’s eye out with it. The god of thunder just dodged and went back to his bacon and eggs.

“Phil, would you like some?” Steve asked, politely, gesturing to the mountain of food being consumed around the table.

“No, thank you, Captain. I ate already.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled and turned his attention back to his own breakfast.

“See!” Clint protested. “He’s flirting. That was flirting. He was flirting just then, wasn’t he, Tony?’

“Absolutely.”

Phil hung his head and put his hands to his temples, rubbing them gently. Steve could see him trying very hard not to sigh. He reached over and patted the agent on the back.

Phil looked up and he added a reassuring smile.

“Steve, please stop flirting with Agent. It’s…..disturbing.”

Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Laughing might get him off the hook where all this flirting business was concerned, but only temporarily because he’d be as good admitting he was a flirt. Crying, on the other hand, would make Tony feel guilty and making Tony feel guilty was to be avoided at all costs.

Tony had enough guilt weighing him down. Useless, pointless, irrational guilt that, as far as Steve could see, no-one should carry, let alone someone as brilliant and wonderful as Tony. Because those little glimpses, those rare times when Tony was open and honest and not hiding behind his walls? Then all his brightness shone through.

All the brightness that should always shine through. The brightness that he kept hidden away under a mask of sarcasm and cynicism and, sometimes, just sometimes, he let Steve see it and it was beautiful and wonderful and blinding.

Well, _damn_.

Yup, he recognised the symptoms. Tony was beautiful and brilliant and he got under Steve’s skin like nobody else, not even Peggy, and he was considerate and kind and Steve was having fantasies about him and masturbating to them in the shower….yep, Steve was in love with him. Shit. He’d thought it was just a physical thing. Apparently not.

This monumental self-revelation aside, laughing and crying were both out of the question, so Steve just mentally shrugged and ignored everybody. Experience told him that would be easier in the long run. As soon as he’d finished breakfast, he’d go for a run and ponder how the hell he’d fallen in love with his best friend and what to do about it.

\-----

Several days (and even more runs) later Steve had to conclude he didn’t have many options. He could say nothing and be in love with Tony forever. No, that wasn’t an exaggeration. Even if he found someone else, he’d still be in love with Tony. That wasn’t changing.

Or he could try saying something, but Tony tended to run for the hills when feelings were mentioned and, even if Steve could get him to talk, he didn’t know if he could take an outright rejection if Tony didn’t feel the same.

So, option three it was. Apparently he was a flirt, anyway, so why not try with Tony? It would be testing the waters, so to speak. If it didn’t go well, then at least he’d tried.

Decision made. The internet was so helpful, it shouldn’t be too hard to find out where to start and give him some basic ideas. Then he’d be a man with a plan.

Hey, who said he couldn’t have a sense of humour about those days?

Yeah, okay, that joke was bad.

The next morning, he was all ready to put his plan into action, but this time the smell of coffee did nothing. No Tony zombie-walking into the kitchen, hair rumpled, grease and oil stains in odd places.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Is Tony okay?”

“Mr. Stark is fine, sir.”

“Is he still in the workshop?”

“No, Captain. Mr. Stark left the Tower last night.”

Tony had left? Without saying anything? He knew Steve didn’t keep regular hours, and he’d normally stick his head around the door and say goodbye, most especially because they needed to know where he was if there was an emergency.

“Where did he go, JARVIS?”

“To a conference in Australia.”

“Australia?! Why?”

“It is a conference on clean energy, Captain. They asked Mr. Stark several months ago to give the keynote address. He decided to go at the last minute.”

“Okay, JARVIS. Thanks.”

“You are welcome, Captain.”

Well, Tony was a genius. He hadn’t been exaggerating about that. Steve had done his research after the invasion and anyone who was building circuit boards and engines and robots before they were ten was definitely a genius.

And, as he’d pointed out, he _was_ the only name in clean energy in the world. Of course he’d be in demand as a speaker. He just wished Tony would’ve told him, would’ve stopped in and said goodbye.

For the next week or so, Steve tried to act as normal as possible. He sparred with Natasha, played Wii U with Clint, went to the movies with Thor (they watched something with lots of car chases and explosions in it and Steve really missed the old movies with Gary Cooper, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, Judy Garland, Boris Karloff, Charles Laughton, Carole Lombard and Lon Chaney), drank tea and meditated with Bruce and visited a children’s hospital.

He really missed Tony when it came to the hospital visit. Tony was so great with kids, it was a sight to behold. They loved the Iron Man suit. There wasn’t much anyone could do for the ones that had leukaemia or other types of cancer, but just being there seemed give them an immense boost and nothing was better than seeing the kids smile.

Steve would let them hold his shield and pose with them for photos, but Tony would walk in like he owned the place, pose for more photos, and then hand out toys, games and books for the younger patients and Starktablets and Starkphones for the older kids.

Then he’d sit and talk to each child like they were the most important person in the world. He’d introduce himself, ask questions, listen to their opinions and, if they wanted to ask him anything, he’d just answer and he’d never tell them no.

He was so patient and so kind and Steve missed him so much, and….when _had_ he turned into a love-sick teenager without realising it? He was an adult, he still had a plan and it would just have to wait until Tony got back, that’s all.

He still missed the snarky engineer.

With his usual perfect timing, Tony got back just as they were all piled up in the rec room for movie night; bowls of popcorn, cartons of ice-cream and packets of chips at the ready. He looked tired, but mostly happy.

“How was the conference?” Bruce asked and he and Tony dived into a conversation about alternative energy and Tony waxed poetical about Australia’s climate and all the sunshine and how Bruce would’ve liked the tea choices at his hotel.

Steve just sat back and relaxed, letting the sound of Tony’s voice wash over him.

“So, movie night?”

By common consent, Steve and Thor got the biggest couch – they both needed the room – whilst Bruce and Tony got the recliners and Clint and Natasha just sprawled out wherever. Clint would occasionally lie on top of the back of the couch (it was hardly going to tip over with Thor and Steve weighing it down) but Tony had threatened to replace all his explosive arrow heads with ones that sang “Cupid” every time they hit something if he kept it up and, since Tony was sneaky enough (and genius enough!) to do it, he’d taken to sitting on the coffee table instead.

Unless, of course, Coulson joined them – then Clint would sit wherever the agent was sitting, usually half in his lap. Coulson never seemed to mind, particularly. He’d just shift a little to get himself comfortable and sometimes put his hands around Clint’s waist, and Clint didn’t seem to mind _that_ at all.

This time, Natasha decided she wanted a recliner, so Tony was fresh out of luck and had to squeeze himself onto the couch between Thor and Steve. It was a bit crowded, but Tony just smirked and said, “Look at me, the rose between two thorns.”

Bruce chuckled softly at that, Natasha did the eyebrow thing and Clint smirked, but Thor thought it was hilarious and laughed for ten minutes whilst Tony cued up the movie and the credits started. Thor was so unashamed about what he thought funny and, surprisingly, Steve found it relaxing and kind of comforting. Thor was so honest, and that was a relief. Dealing with Shield politics was exhausting and trying to figure exactly what Fury’s plans were at any given time was damn near impossible.

Steve wondered if that was why Thor was Tony’s favourite. He must deal with some pretty underhanded types when he put on a three piece suit and marched into a boardroom. Well, when Pepper could coax him out of his workshop, anyway. Maybe Tony found Thor’s honesty just as relaxing as Steve did.

The opening scene appeared on the cinema screen Tony had personally installed and Steve dragged himself out of his thoughts and tried to focus on what was in front of him. It wasn’t exactly easy, though, with Tony so close. He could feel the weight of his friend’s presence in the scant millimetres of space between them, as if Tony was somehow pulling Steve towards him. Or Steve was pulling Tony.

It was like that, now, between the two of them. Tony was his best friend, his shellhead; the person who finished his sentences and knew what he was thinking; the only one who could predict Steve’s moves and move in complete sync with him; the genius who made sure Steve had the best armour and the best bike that his money and his mind could design; and the man who didn’t mind sharing a cup of cocoa and watching bad late night television when Steve had yelled himself awake from dreams of the ice.

Sometimes, it was the other way around, of course. That’s how it worked. Sometimes, when Tony was tired enough to drop the walls he kept around himself, Steve would be the one listening, trying to give comfort, after nightmares of water boarding and batteries shorting and the arc reactor being ripped out of Tony’s chest. It was a good thing Obidiah Stane was already dead, or he wouldn’t have lasted an hour after Tony had blurted out _that_ story.

In so many ways, he and Tony were so alike. Both creations of Howard Stark, both lost men, both trying to do the right thing and both stumbling and falling, because they were only human, and both recognising that in each other but never speaking of it, because some things didn’t need to be said.

So, he and Tony pulled toward each other, like magnets, and Steve took comfort in that. Which is how they ended up, here and now, watching a movie and squished up together on a couch. And, when the minute space between them disappeared and he felt Tony’s weight against his arm, he just enjoyed the warmth and closeness and didn’t say a thing.

About half way through the movie, Steve felt the weight on his arm start to get heavier. Then a head dropped to his shoulder and he looked down to see Tony fast asleep. He looked so innocent in sleep, his face relaxed and a little trickle of saliva shining on his chin. It was heart-meltingly adorable.

He reached up and gently wiped the drool away, smiling at the soft snort he got in response, wrapped his arm snugly around Tony and held him close. When the movie was over, and he had to wake him up, it would be business as usual, so Steve just wanted to savour this for as long as he could.

He noticed the side-eye Natasha was giving him and didn’t bother to hide his huge grin of happiness. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow – just gave him a Look. There was a nudge against his leg and he looked down at Clint, who was clearly about to make smart remark, but was forestalled by Coulson, who reached around and put his hand over Clint’s mouth and then whispered something in Clint’s shell-like. Whatever it was, it must have been…interesting. Clint didn’t say a word for the rest of the movie.

The end credits rolled too quickly for Steve’s liking and, as everyone got up, stretched, and left, Steve just said goodnight, quietly, to them and stayed where he was, staring at a blank screen, wondering if he should move. Wondering if he _wanted_ to move.

He should, he knew he should. He should give Tony a gentle shake and then, when he was awake, untangle himself and go to bed. He _should_ do all that. There were things in this situation he _shouldn’t_ do. Really, there were. He shouldn’t, for instance, gently and carefully move Tony around so that they were both lying on the couch, face-face-face. He really shouldn’t pillow Tony’s head on his chest. And he definitely shouldn’t stroke Tony’s hair.

But Steve has never been very good with ‘should’, and ‘shouldn’t’ is not a word. That’s what his Ma used to tell him, anyway.

* * * * *

He’s woken by the sound of whispering. Then he hears the click of a phone camera. Next comes giggling and he recognises that giggle. Miss Lewis is in the rec room. Doctor Foster must be visiting Thor.

“This is going on my Tumblr.”

What the hell is Tumblr? He knows about MySpace and Facebook and Twitter, but he’s never heard of Tumblr. Something else to add to his list of confusing things about the 21st century. He’ll have to Google it later. Google is so helpful.

Whatever it may be, there’s apparently now going to be a picture of Tony and him cuddling on the couch on it. Steve’s been warned all about the dangers of the internet, but one picture that no-one will probably ever look at doesn’t seem too much of a problem.

There’s a groan from above him and he turns his head to look at Miss Lewis.

“Would you mind fetching Tony a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, Cap.”

Another groan and then, “Coffee? Cap, I think I love you.”

“Now Stark’s flirting back!”

“Nobody’s flirting with anybody, Barton. You know Stark’s brain is not fully operational until his third cup of coffee.”

“Steve’s been flirting with Stark, and now Stark’s flirting back. Look at them! I’m never going to be able to perch on that couch again!”

There’s a sigh and then, “Barton, they’re both still fully dressed – what exactly do you think they’ve been doing? Other than sleeping?”

“ _Flirting._ ”

The way Clint says it reminds Steve of the whole fondue thing back when he’d first met Howard.

Two cups of coffee appear over the back of the couch and Steve half lifts, half nudges Tony into a sitting position, puts one of the cups into his hands and then gently lifts his arms up by the elbows so his nose is nearly in the cup.

It works; Tony inhales once and then downs the cup, slurping noisily. It’s empty in less than a minute and Steve takes the cup away, passes it Darcy, asks for a refill and then puts his own cup in Tony’s hands.

This time Tony manages to lift it under his own power and drinks it more slowly, savouring the flavour (Steve can tell by the blissed-out look.) Darcy comes back with another two cups, gives one to Tony in exchange for his empty and hands the other one to Steve. She gives him a Look to go with it, but he’s not as adept as deciphering her Looks as he is at Natasha’s, so he just says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Halfway through his third cup, Tony looks around, sees Clint, and says, “I’ve told you before, Legolas, Steve flirts with everyone.”

“He flirts with you _more_ than anybody else.”

“That’s because we’re BFF’s, Merida. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Steve wants to interrupt, wants to protest that it does, it _does_ mean something, but he can’t seem to unstick his tongue. He takes a sip of coffee, trying to loosen it. It doesn’t work.

Clint snorts. “Of course it means something, Tin Man.”

Clint is spot on, as usual. He has a knack for reading people, Steve’s noticed. Possibly picked up from Coulson, more likely from his days in the circus. He imagines you’d learn a lot about people, working in a circus.

“Barton, why do you keep on insisting the Captain is flirting with Stark?”

“Because he is.” The ‘ _duh_ ’ in his voice implied that this should be self-evident.

“Coulson, what are you still doing here, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be back in the air yesterday?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Stark, our technology isn’t as reliable as yours. Maintenance found a problem and it’s going to take a week to fix. We’re all grounded til then.”

“Oh? So where’s the rest of the Brady Bunch?”

“Whilst it may seem that way sometimes, I’m not _actually_ their babysitter, Mr. Stark. They’ll come back when the plane’s fixed. I am simply here to enjoy my downtime.”

“In the Tower? I could’ve flown you to Tahiti. I hear it’s a magical place.”

“It is, indeed. However, _that_ is not the focus of this discussion.”

“So, what is?”

“Barton and his fixation on the Captain flirting with you.”

“I don’t like to repeat myself, but in Hawkie’s case, I’ll make an exception.” Tony took a deep breath, looked Clint dead in the eye, and said, “Clint, Steve is flirting with me, but Steve flirts with everyone – **_it doesn’t mean anything.”_**

“Yes, it does.” Steve and Clint spoke the words in unison and Tony turned to stare at Steve.

Finally, _finally_ , his voice was working. He cleared his throat and said it again, louder this time. “Yes, it does.”

Tony stared at him, unblinking, for a second or two, then laughed.

“Good one, Capsicle. You’ve got that sincere look down, don’t you? You nearly had me there.”

There was a brief noise and, when Steve looked around, Clint, Coulson and Darcy had all vanished. Hmmm. He wouldn’t have expected Miss Lewis to be so quiet.

Tony sighed into his coffee and muttered, “Great. They thought you were serious. Now they’ve disappeared to give us some privacy.” He mock-glared at Steve. “I could’ve gotten another coffee out of Darcy if you hadn’t have decided to get a sense of humour at the wrong time, Cap.”

“Tony, I…..”

He finished his cup and carefully put it down on the table in front of them.

“Look, Cap, a joke’s a joke. Really, it’s been a good one. Those fake breasts were probably too much, but you’ve had your payback and enough’s enough.”

“That’s not what I…..I don’t _want_ payback, Tony! Don’t you know me better than that?”

“Actually, yeah, I do. Pranking’s not your style, really, is it?”

Steve nods and Tony pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “So, did Clint put you up to it?”

Did Clint put him up to it? _Did Clint put him up to it?!_ Why wasn’t Tony getting it? Why could he supposedly flirt with everyone else but when it came to the _one_ person he actually wanted, it was brushed off?

“No, Tony,” Steve was practically yelling. “Clint didn’t put me up to anything!”

“Alright, calm down, Capsicle. It isn’t your style, but it’s kind of Clint’s. He can be downright _vicious_ sometimes.”

There was nothing else to do. Words weren’t working. So he grabbed Tony’s face in his hands and dragged their lips together.

It was rough and clumsy and not what Steve wanted for a first kiss with Tony but…..it _was_. It was like nothing he’d planned in his head if they ever got this far, and yet everything he never knew he wanted. Tony’s goatee was soft and his lips were chapped and Steve could taste coffee and a tang of…..something. Something _other_.

Yes, okay, that’s not very specific, but Tony’s mouth opened under his and now they’re both trying their damndest to learn the other by taste - so sue him if his higher brain functions aren’t working properly.

He doesn’t know how long they stayed like that, locked together, but he knows that Tony isn’t the one to break it off, isn’t the one left panting and gasping for air. He’s just breathing a little more heavily.

Steve takes a great gulp of air and dives right back in again, twining his arms around Tony’s shoulders as his hands play with the dark strands of hair at his nape.

Tony practically purrs into his mouth at that, so Steve drops his hands and starts massaging his shoulders. The reaction is gratifying. Tony sighs into his mouth and arches into the strokes and Steve hopes his brain is functioning well enough to remember this technique.

He breaks the kiss, needing air again, but keeps up the massage, loving all the little noises Tony’s making.

“It means something, Tony.”

Tony opens his eyes and stares at Steve. Does he get it? Does he understand? Steve’s always been better with deeds than with words. Has he made himself clear enough? It’s tempting just to start kissing his best friend again, because that was better than anything his imagination had come up with so far, but he needs to know. He needs to know that Tony understands; that this is real, that Steve is serious, that he’s not taking anything back, that this is what he wants.

Tony’s eyes are unfathomable. They’re so dark, it’s like looking into the abyss and Steve can’t, for once, tell what’s going in the man’s head. He has no idea how this will play out and Steve is a master strategist. He knows everyone’s moves before they even _think_ about making them. This uncertainty is unnerving.

He doesn’t know what else to do, so he says it again. “It means something, Tony.”

Tony holds his gaze for a little longer, then reaches up and kisses him again. This time it’s gentle and soft; just the barest press of lips against lips and Steve sighs.   He’s drained – the rush of heady passion that had enveloped them earlier is gone and now he’s just slightly tired and desperately waiting for Tony to _say_ something. Anything.

The lips leave his own and meander up the side of his face, pressing soft kisses along his jaw. A tongue gently laps behind his ear and a voice deepened by what Steve hopes is desire, whispers low and soft: “I know, Steve.”

His breath catches in his throat and he pulls back, trying to look at Tony,, trying to gauge what he sees on his best friend’s face. He’s not disappointed. Tony is smiling. Genuinely smiling, like he’s happy. Steve hasn’t seen that kind of smile on his face since Pepper.

“I love you.”

Damn! He hadn’t meant for that to come out. Tony didn’t do ‘I love you’s’ very well. In fact, Steve couldn’t remember ever hearing Tony say it, or anyone saying it _to_ Tony. Rhodey and Pepper had both _shown_ how they felt, as had Tony, but the actual words never seemed to pass between them.

He wondered if anyone, in Tony’s entire life, had _ever_ said those words to him.

Tony was staring at him, eyes big and round, looking like a child who’d just been handed the moon as a surprise birthday gift.

“I love you, Tony. I mean it. I’m not going to take it back or change my mind or say I made a mistake. I love you.”

Tony opened his mouth and Steve reached up and gently placed his hand over it, adding, “You don’t have to say it back, you don’t ever have to say it all. I’m not asking for anything, or demanding anything you can’t give me. I just want you to know – I love you.”

He took his hand away and waited. He’d meant it. He wasn’t going to pressure Tony for anything, he’d just needed him to know how much Steve cared about him, how serious he was about this.

Tony reached up and grabbed him and Steve let himself be dragged down into the kiss. It echoed the passion of their first, but without the frenzied and desperate edge. This was a kiss that felt like it could go on for hours and hours and hours. Like it could go on all day. Like Tony _wanted_ it to.

And Steve, well, Steve would quite happily oblige him.

Except….

“Captain Rogers? Mr. Stark?”

Reluctantly, Steve pulled himself away from Tony and turned to Coulson. Before he could say anything, Tony asked, “What is it, Agent?”

Coulson looked abashed, which Tony seemed to find amusing, as he replied with just a hint of embarrassment, “I can’t keep Barton away from the coffee maker much longer and I really don’t need to hear any more about your….. _flirting_. Would you mind taking yourselves somewhere more private so I can have my eggs and bacon in peace?”

Steve thought that idea was a great one. He and Tony. Somewhere more private. Tony, being Tony (and Steve wouldn’t have him any other way, really), smirked at Coulson and said, “You know I do own this building, don’t you, Coulson? I could just have security escort you to the Starbucks around the corner for your breakfast. Then Captain Tall, Blond and Gorgeous and I could get back to what we were doing without any interruptions.”

Coulson just stared at Tony placidly, then _looked_ at Steve and back at Tony again. Taking the hint Steve bent down and whispered in Tony’s ear:

“Hey, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, how’s about you show me your schematics and I’ll show you my etchings?”

There was silence for a second or two and then Tony leaned back, grinned lasciviously and said, “You’re on, Cap.”

He grabbed Steve’s hand and practically dragged him out of the rec room and down the corridor to the elevator. He pressed the down button and Steve, confused, asked, “Isn’t your bedroom on the top of the tower?”

“You asked me to show you my schematics, big boy. That’s where we’re headed.”

“Your workshop?”

Tony nodded as the elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors opened. He dragged Steve across to his workshop, tapped the code onto the keypad and tugged Steve through the open door.

Steve had been down here a couple of times, mostly to get Tony when the call to assemble came through, but he’d never been invited in before. Although he supposed invited wasn’t the right word. More like he’d been persistently encouraged. As Tony would say.

“Hey, J. Bring up the schematics for the Mark IV, would you?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Lights coalesced and a shimmering blue picture of one of Tony’s armors was suddenly floating in the middle of the room. It was gorgeous.

Steve reached out a hand, stopped and looked at Tony, who nodded encouragingly.

“Go ahead, you can’t break anything.”

Carefully, he put his hand around the arm. His hand went through, of course, but he wriggled his fingers and the image turned. He moved his hand up and the image flipped. He pushed down and it flipped in the opposite direction.

Steve was struck by the thought that Tony would look perfect doing this, his hands graceful and sure as he manipulated the images piece by piece. It must have shown on his face, because Tony asked, “Is it weirding you out, Cap? It’s a long way from radio.”

Steve grinned. “But not that much further than television, Tony.” At Tony’s derisive snort, he added, “And nothing you do could weird me out. Amaze and astound me, yes, but not weird me out.”

Tony smiled another genuine smile (and if Steve’s heart sang to see it he wasn’t admitting it – and he wasn’t admitting he was having teenager-in-love thoughts again, either) and said, “So, I’ve shown you my schematics, Captain Tall, Blonde and Gorgeous. Are you going to show me your etchings?”

“I’d love to, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome.”

He took Tony’s hand and led him back to the elevator. As the doors closed, Tony pushed him against the wall and kissed him fiercely.

All the frenzy was back and Steve went with it, gripping Tony by the thighs and hoisting him up so their groins were level. He could feel the length of Tony’s hard cock rubbing against his own and he had to struggle not to rut against it like an animal. He wanted better than that for his first time with Tony.

So he concentrated on the kissing, instead.

Until the elevator dinged and the doors opened and he carried Tony the few steps to his own room. Had he remembered to tidy up? He usually did, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember. Not that he thought Tony would care.

Trying to concentrate long enough to let go of Tony and enter his own code into his keypad was harder than he’d expected. He got there eventually, and the door swung open. He pulled his mouth away from Tony’s long enough to say, “Mr. Jarvis, lights please.”

He carried Tony into his bedroom and lowered him onto the king size bed the man in his arms had insisted on buying for all of their apartments. Steve loved having a bed that he could fit into, and now he wanted to see what Tony looked like lying on it.

When he pulled away to breathe and looked down, he wasn’t disappointed. From the flushed cheeks and reddened lips, to his rapid breathing and cock straining to burst out of his black cargo pants, Tony was a gorgeous picture and, for one fleeting moment, Steve considered getting out his sketchbook, but he knew he couldn’t pull himself away long enough (or keep his hands steady enough, like as not.)

So he told himself to remember this moment and draw it afterwards as his hands worked busily on Tony’s belt, unbuckling it and then tugging the zip down to expose black underwear. Slowly, his slid his hands over Tony’s hips, urging him upward. As he undulated, thrusting his pelvis upwards, Steve slipped his hands into the waistband of the underwear and slid both them and the pants down in one movement.

“Smooth move, Cap.” Tony purred, still arching his back. Steve bent forward and gave a gentle suck to the tip of Tony’s cock, loving the moan that followed.

Pushing his hands upwards, ghosting over firm abs and feeling ribs through taut skin, he did the same with Tony’s t-shirt, sliding it up and over, baring tanned flesh and the blue glow of the arc reactor.

Leaning forward, he gave Tony a fierce kiss, sucking on his tongue and savouring that _other_ flavor. Breaking away, he lowered himself back down and knelt between Tony’s legs, wondering if he had the skill to do what he really wanted, but wanting it so much he didn’t really care. He’d never been one to back away from a challenge.

He felt hands, strong and sure, grab the hem of his t-shirt and pull it up and over his head. He bent forward slightly to let it come off more easily and rubbed his torso all up against Tony’s in the process. The feel of hot skin on hot skin made him shiver and he did it again because it felt so _good_.

If all the noises Tony was making were any indication, he was enjoying it too. Steve wanted to hear more of those noises and he had a pretty good idea about how to manage that. He pulled back and, bending his legs so his feet were tucked under his bum, he starting sucking in earnest on Tony’s cock.

He started by just sucking the head, bobbing up and down, using his tongue to swipe circles around it. It was actually pretty easy and Tony was definitely enjoying it. Steve was enjoying the feel of the hardness in his mouth and the smooth skin that covered it. He kept sucking, pulling off briefly before diving right back down again.

“God, your _mouth_!”

He may not have much a way with words, not like Tony, but it seemed he nevertheless had a talented tongue.

Time to try out something new, then. Steve took a deep breath through his nose and sucked Tony down as far as he could. It wasn’t as far as he would’ve liked (educational videos couldn’t make up for experience, after all) but it was further than he thought he would’ve managed for his first time.

“Nnnnnghh!”

Slowly, Steve pulled his mouth up to the very tip of Tony’s cock and then, just as slowly, sucked it down again, one hand holding it steady whilst the other was busy unbuttoning his own pants. This was doing things to his libido he’d never thought possible, and he need to take himself in hand right _now_.

He finally got his hand around his own cock and began to stroke it in time with his sucking, slowly down and then even more slowly up, stroking and sucking in unison. He could feel his orgasm beginning to build and, just as he went down a little further than he already managed, he shot his wad.

He pulled off Tony and groaned, long and loud, as his orgasm ripped through his body. Long thin threads of semen spattered all up Tony’s abdomen, stark white against his tanned skin. Steve’s heart was racing, and he was breathing like he’d just run 50 miles, and it was incredible.

“Cap, you look so sexy when you come.”

God, Tony sounded _wrecked_ , and Steve realized Tony hadn’t orgasmed. Steve couldn’t be having with that.

So, he bent back down again and finished what he’d started.

It didn’t take long, just a few more long, hard sucks and –

“Steve, I’m coming!”

He tried to pull away, but Steve held his hips in a firm grip and swallowed every last drop. It wasn’t pleasant – in fact, it was downright disgusting – but it was Tony, and if he was doing this, he was doing all of it. And having as much of Tony as he could get.

Tony shuddered on the bed, his foot kicking out spasmodically as he rode out his orgasm. It was a sight to behold and Steve wondered if he’d ever get tired of seeing. He doubted it.

There was long silence as both of them came down from their respective highs and enough blood was restored to their brains for them to start functioning again.

“Sweetheart, you just blew my mind.”

Steve laughed and stretched himself out to his full length, ignoring his cramping leg muscles in favour of slipping an arm around Tony’s waist and nuzzling into his neck.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” he replied, enjoying the mingled scents of sweat and sex and the _other_.

“Well, you’re the only one who’s managed it so far.”

Tony sounded pleased, so Steve said, “Well, I _am_ a fast learner.”

“Hmm,” was the only reply. It seemed like Tony was falling asleep, except he suddenly turned around in Steve’s arms and said, “Hey! You never did show me your etchings, Cap.”

“I, uh, don’t actually have any.”

“Captain Rogers!” Tony gasped in a high, scandalized voice. “You mean you brought me here under false pretenses? For shame!”

Grinning, Steve rolled over, reached under the bed and came back up with his sketchbook. He offered it to Tony.

“Will sketchings do instead?”

Tony laughed and grabbed the book.

“Absolutely, Cap.”

He flipped open the pages and Steve, who knew what was in it, forced himself to keep looking at Tony even though he wanted to turn away. He didn’t want to see Tony’s reaction. He didn’t want to see it if Tony hated them.

“Steve…..I-I-I don’t know what to say.” There was a delighted smile hovering around Tony’s lips. “Is this really how you see me?” he asked hesistantly.

“No, Tony.”

Tony’s face fell and Steve quickly added, “I don’t see you as perfect, you just _are_. So that’s how I draw you. As you are.”

The smile was back, but it was the genuinely happy smile that Steve loved so much.

Tony pulled Steve down and, well there really wasn’t any other word for it, _snuggled_ into his arms and said, “I love you.”

Steve reared back, surprised. “Tony, I-“

“Nope, once a day is my limit. I’ll tell you again sometime tomorrow. And you can tell me, too. Sleep now. J?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lights to low, please.”

“Of course, sir.”

The lights dimmed and what could Steve do but exactly what Tony wanted? He pulled the blankets over them and watched as Tony’s breathing evened out and he fell asleep.

Then he let the blue glow of the arc reactor lull him to sleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess all - I'm lousy at writing sex scenes. I don't know why, they're just not something I've ever got a handle on. Usually my co-conspirator Tiriel handles those, but I'm writing solo at the moment because of her shifts. I don't get to see her but for a few hours every couple of weeks, so I'm also missing my best sounding board, beta reader and all around awesome partner.
> 
> This felt like it needed a sex scene, though, so I put one in and hoped for the best. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I'd love if you hit that kudos button before you go - it's like virtual hugs for me and I love hugs! :-)


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